RESULTS
OF BEAVERS’ WORK - IN WHAT WAY MAN DERIVES BENEFIT FROM THE
ENGINEER­ING FEATS OF THE COUNTLESS GENERATIONS OF
BEAVERS-METHODS FOR THEIR PROTECTION

IN
the foregoing chapters the actual work done by the beaver and the
immediate object of such work as it affects the animals themselves
has been reviewed. We may now turn to the far-reaching results of
what is done, and has been done by them during the past thousands of
years, and the con­clusion is forced upon us that the debt we owe
to the beaver is of such magnitude that it can never be repaid. It is
very doubtful indeed whether the work of any animal has such
far-reaching results. Other creatures have been of greater value,
either as furnishing food, or clothing, or means of trans­portation,
but by themselves, unaided by man, they have done no work, they have
accomplished little or nothing which has been of any direct benefit
to man except in the way of killing our enemies, in which work birds
take the highest place, for without their perpetual aid we should be
overrun by insect pests, and be unable to grow our food crops. Slowly
we are beginning to realise this and are making a fight against the
dastardly destruction of these innocents for purposes of personal
adornments and other equally useless objects. But the beaver is
almost without any champion. He even has enemies who demand that he
shall be killed for the harm he does to their particular interests.
They do not stop to consider how they benefit by the results of the
little animals’ work which far more than counter-balances any
slight harm they do.

A
dam when kept in repair retains the water of the pond almost to its
extreme crown.

As
a dam falls into decay the site becomes overgrown with aldersand
willows.

This
dam, no longer kept in repair, will let the water escape, and before
longwill lose all semblance of its original form.

In
this chapter I shall endeavour to show what the beavers’ work
means. The question of the value of the animals themselves as fur
bearers, and the results to the country from their pursuit, will come
in a later chapter. We have seen that through making dams the beaver
floods tracts of land which vary in size from less than an acre up to
hundreds of acres, perhaps we might even say thousands. So long as
these ponds or lakes are inhabited by the animals the dams are kept
in repair, but gradually, as the size of the colony increases, the
supply of food trees becomes more and more remote and the place
eventually is un­suited to their needs, so the beaver move away
and seek new pastures. In the natural course of events the dam, no
longer kept in repair, soon begins to break down. Willows and alders
take root and open up seams through which the water escapes. Running
water soon enlarges any holes in earth works, and so within a short
time the dams no longer hold back the water, the pond gets lower and
lower until finally it vanishes.

So
much for the dam; now let us watch the pond itself throughout its
course of existence. It began as a stream whose banks were probably
wooded. As the water rose and flooded the land the trees, which had
not been cut for food by the beavers, becoming choked by water soon
died, and as the pond grew with each year’s additions to the darns,
more and more trees were cut down for food and killed by water. What
started as a pond of perhaps fifty feet wide and covering far less
than an acre becomes a lake of fair size. Gradually the trees that
have died fall and no trace of them is seen above water. Their roots
may remain hidden in the ground to be dug up later as proof of the
previous existence of the trees. Nothing remains to break the smooth
surface of the lake except perhaps one or more beaver islands on
which the lodges were built. After the place has been occupied by
many generations of beaver it is abandoned owing to lack of food, or
for the more dismal reason that the trapper had paid his visits of
destruction to the peaceful colony, and the pond of maybe ten or a
hundred years’ growth slowly subsides. During all these years there
has been a rich land-forming process going along in an automatic way.
The growing vegetation, having been killed by the rising water, has
decomposed. Wood and leaves, grasses and roots, and even stones have
become a homo­geneous mass of material which under certain
conditions makes soil. Year after year the trees on the surrounding
hills and valleys have shed their myriad leaves, and these have been
blown into the lake, or carried to it by the rains and melting snows.
Débris of all sorts has been brought down to the
flooded areas where in the still waters it all settles to the bottom
so that gradually a deep vegetable muck has formed over the land that
once was covered with trees and flowers and richly coloured mosses.
Most of this refuse of the woods is under normal conditions carried
down by the various streams into the rivers and so out to the sea and
apparently man gets no benefit from it. But the beaver lake has
arrested this valuable material and prevented it going to waste.
Instead of being lost it has been stored up, not in one pond, but in
hundreds of thousands, large and small. With the desertion of a
beaver pond the water, as already stated, being no longer held in
check by the well-built dams, gradually finds its way out. The
sub­sidence may be slow or rapid, but the effect is the same. The
whole area of flooded land begins to dry, and what was formerly a
rough irregular tract has become smooth and level. For some time the
water-soaked land is too heavy to allow of a good growth of
vegetation, but it is opened and ploughed by the winter frosts, while
the sun and the rains prepare it for its great mission. Grasses take
possession and soon the lake becomes a meadow luxuriant, smooth and
beautiful, a visible result of the beavers’ industry and the
super-human direction of the power which controls all material
things, and produces the greatest results from the smallest and most
insignificant beginnings. How many acres of the finest meadow land
and richest valleys are the result of beavers’ work no one dare
say. But throughout North America it is fairly safe to say that many
hundreds of thousands, or even millions of acres, of the finest
cultivated land owe their existence to the beaver. Of course in most
places all trace of the origin of these bottom lands is lost, but
every once in a while a beaver-cut stump is discovered by those who
have to dig down a few feet below the surface, and in some cases
these evidences of beaver work have been found fully thirty or forty
feet down, where for countless ages they have been preserved by the
peat which has formed over them. Agassiz, speaking of the age of
beaver work, mentions the building of a mill dam which necessitated
some excavating. “This soil was found to be peat bog. A trench was
dug into the peat twelve feet wide, by twelve hundred feet long, and
nine feet deep; all the way along this trench old stumps of trees
were found at various depths, some still bearing marks of having been
gnawed by beaver teeth.” By calculating the growth of the bog as
about a foot a century there is fairly good evidence that the dam
built by the beaver must have existed about one thousand years ago.

A
beaver pond seen from an elevation. The lodges are seen on
theextreme right.

A
comparatively new beaver pond filled with trees which have been
killed by the water. These will gradually disappear and leave the
pond unobstructed.

When
the dam begins to disintegrate the pond rapidly dwindles to an
insignificant size.

Do
the farmers realise what debt they owe to the beaver? I fear not.
Their one idea if a beaver is found anywhere within their property is
to imme­diately kill it. For they regard its wretched skin, worth
perhaps ten dollars at most, as being the
only value of the beaver, and so the wretched beast is caught and its
skin saved, while the brains which have accomplished so much are
thrown to the dogs. Who is to blame for this? Those who have the
teaching of our children. If only the schools taught more about the
usefulness of animals and birds, even from the selfish point of view
of their results to men, and taught these things intelli­gently,
much good would come. But a trip into any part of the country where
the beaver still exists in its wild state will show how blind people
are to their own interest in allowing these animals to be destroyed.

Before
going further into this side of the question it might be as well to
show some more ways in which the beaver is of almost unlimited
benefit to mankind and the country in general. Water, as we well
know, is the most essential of all things; on its supply a country
thrives or perishes. Millions of pounds are
spent annually to protect and conserve the supply, so that towns and
farms, and forests too, shall have all that is needed. With the
opening up of country and the consequent destruction of forest land,
the supply is inevitably bound to decrease, as the thousands of
smaller streams are deprived of the shelter which prevents the rapid
evaporation of the water; the result is of course the lessening of
the amount in the larger rivers. At certain seasons the supply is too
great, and floods do infinite damage. At other times there is a great
shortage. Man, in order to prevent this uneven supply, builds
enor­mous darns which retain the water during the season of
plenty, and deal it out as needed during the hot summer months. But
even with man’s most care­fully arranged plans and vast
expenditure of money, we hear of periodic water famines, with the
result­ing hardships which have such far-reaching and disastrous
results. But what, may be asked, has this got to do with beaver? A
glance at the work of those small animals will answer the question.
Their dams, built most often near the head waters of streams, result
in countless reservoirs, which keep the water in check and allow only
the steady flow of a small amount, so that droughts in a
beaver country are almost unknown, as there is always a sufficient
supply kept in reserve. In some few parts of the country stock owners
have begun to realise this important fact with the highly
satis­factory result that these men are protecting beaver, which
they regard as of the utmost value, because they can actually see
the benefits which result from the work of these insignificant
engineers. In the western States this exhibition of the importance of
the beaver is most in evidence, and we may hope that other parts of
the country will eventually, and before it is too late, follow in the
footsteps of those men in South Dakota and other places who have set
such good example.

Apart
from the conserving of water, the darns play another and almost
equally important part. Floods, as already stated, are a source of
almost unlimited trouble to both the farmer, the lumber­man, and
the villages. In fact everyone may indirectly suffer from the effects
of too much water. Bridges are destroyed, roads rendered impassable
and endless confusion is the result. The following piece of news is
more eloquent than any words of mine on the subject. It appeared in
the Gazette (Montreal) in the issue of September 9th, 1913.
Curiously enough, I was on my way to carry on my studies of beaver in
Ontario when it happened to catch my eye.

BURSTING
OF BEAVER DAM.CAUSE OF BIG SLIDES ON CANADIAN PACIFIC.

“VANCOUVER,
B.C., September 8. — All trains held up on the main line of the
Canadian Pacific by slides are now on their way east and west. The
line was finally cleared at eleven o’clock this morning. Yesterday
the population of Field, the town nearest the slide, which occurred
between Pallises and Glenogle, 25 miles west of Field, was increased
by the addition of 2,000 passengers who were held up by the delay.

“The
slide, which was 300 feet wide and 30 feet deep, was caused by the
bursting of an old beaver dam high up in the mountains. District
Supt. MacKay, at Revelstoke, says that the dam burst under the
pressure of heavy rain storms last week. The slide carried the track
away completely and it went clear across the Kicking Horse River,
damming that stream and endangering the track above the slide. The
river was completely blocked up, and it was found necessary to blast
a new channel for the stream to release the pent-up waters which
threat­ened to cause a washout further east.

The
Canadian Pacific Railway had two steam shovels and a hundred men at
work. Huge trees were brought down with the slide and boulders nearly
as big as a box car made the job of clearing the track a difficult
one. Some of the trees that came down bore the marks of the little
animals’ teeth, and the supports of the dam erected by the beavers
were plainly marked as such by the bleach­ing of their upper ends
and the lower points coated with mud and slime.

“Those
of the delayed westbound passengers who arrived this morning
expressed themselves as very well satisfied with the manner in which
they were treated by the company.

“Fourteen
trains, east and west-bound, were stalled by the slide. Some of the
passengers were transferred across the wash slide over a narrow
foot­bridge, and others who were bound east were routed down the
Arrow Head Lakes and by way of the Crow’s Nest Pass east again over
the main line.”

Eventually
nothing of the pond remains, and the stream resumes its
long-interrupted course.

What
was originally forest land, then for many years a beaver pond or
lake, becomes a rich meadow, which is ultimately devoted to the
use of man.

It
is fairly safe to presume that the builders of the large dam had been
killed some time ago, so that the structure, no longer in repair,
broke under the pressure of the water. And yet the railway people are
bitterly opposed to beavers being allowed to exist, because
occasionally the animals dam the culverts, and so raise the water
against the railroad embankments. No credit is given to them for the
thousands of floods which they have prevented. The evil and not the
good is noticed and the animals are condemned without a fair hearing.
Their side of the case is too often entirely disregarded, and the
sentence of death is pronounced to the misfortune of all concerned. I
have frequently heard it argued by those interested in the lumber
industries of Canada that the beaver should be killed off because
they destroy so much timber. Even to the casual observer such an
argument must appear little less than ridiculous. If the beaver is to
be condemned on that score what might be said of the lumber­man
whose reckless waste of timber is apparent to all who visit the
northern woods. But that is not a subject for this book. Our interest
is in the beaver. Of course they cut down trees, cut them down in
order that they may have food, just as the lumberman does that he and
his family may live and earn a decent livelihood. The question is
what sort of trees the beaver cut, and are they responsible for any
real destruction? I doubt it. To begin with, the principal trees cut
for food purposes are birch, maple and poplars of several species
which grow in low lands or in valleys, where their development is
seldom great. Only on the higher ground, known as “hardwood
ridges,” do they attain a size which gives them a commercial value,
so as a matter of fact few, if any, of the trees cut down by the
beaver would ever be utilized by man. The greatest destruction is due
to the killing of conifers by flooding their roots, and in this way
we must acknowledge that a certain amount of damage may be charged
against the beaver. But even so it is so slight that it is scarcely
worth considering, except as an excuse for those who wish a pretext
for voting against the preservation of the little animals, and whose
actual reason is too often that they want the few dollars which the
pelts might bring them.

Having
barely suggested three of the most beneficial results of beaver work
(I say barely suggested, for the subject might well be carried much
further and many facts and figures given which would prove the points
still more convinc­ingly) we might now turn to the less important
effects of the work. Everyone who has ever been much in the wilds
knows the value of water-ways. In a canoe a man may travel with but
little trouble, and may even allow himself many comforts that are
debarred from the pack if weight has to be considered. Every portage,
when canoeing, is an undesirable change from the quiet monotony of
paddling, so the wise man chooses, so far as he is able, a route
which will allow the canoe to remain in the water as much as
possible. Such a man knows the value of going through beaver country.
Streams which might otherwise be dry, especially during the summer
months, can usually be counted on to have enough water to float a
canoe if the beavers’ darns are in repair, and so many a weary mile
of portaging is avoided. Hundreds of miles have I travelled by canoe
either alone or with some hardy woodsman, and hundreds of times I
have blessed the little beaver for the streams he has kept filled.
During such journeys, each time a dam is reached the canoe is hauled
over it so that it shall do as little damage as possible, and by the
paint marks on the sharp-pointed sticks I have known that many
another man has had reason to bless the builders of those dams.

One
other man who has reason to wish the preservation of the beavers is
the fisherman, as the deep pools made along the waterways offer a
cool retreat for the trout during the hot weather, and even though it
may be said that the dams restrict the freedom of the fish in going
up and down stream there are opportunities during the course of
each year when the water overflows to such an extent that they can
get past almost any dam. The fishermen, therefore, should use their
influence in urging protection for the conservers of water.

Another
and seldom considered result of beavers’ work is the effect it has
on the topography of a country. Fresh streams and rivers are made and
old ones diverted to an extraordinary extent by the building of dams
and consequent forming of ponds. Even new springs are brought to the
surface by the pressure of the water in these ponds. Land­slides
are prevented by reducing the force of streams, and in many ways
quite unknown to us the con­tinued work of the beaver has had its
varied effects on the land.

The
whole question of preserving the beaver should receive most serious
attention, for even apart from the sentimental side which deserves
consideration, the practical value of the animals is undeniable. The
idea of protecting the beaver is of long standing. As far back as
1634 in the Jesuit Relations, there are the following paragraphs :

“We
(the Jesuits) shall be able to instruct them (the Indians) easily and
Beaver will greatly multiply. These animals are more prolific than
our sheep in France, the females bearing as many as five or six each
year. But when the savages find a lodge of them they kill all, great
and small, male and female. There is danger that they will finally
exterminate the species in this region (Three Rivers) as has happened
among the Hurons who have not a single beaver, going elsewhere to buy
the skins they bring to the storehouse of these gentlemen. Now if it
will be so arranged that in the course of time each family of our
Montaig­nais, if they become located, will take its own territory
for hunting, without following in the tracks of its neighbours:
besides we will counsel them not to kill any but the males” —
(this is amusing advice as the two sexes cannot be told apart by
their appearance) — “and of those only such as are large. If they
act upon this advice they will have meat and skins in the greatest
abundance.” In another volume of the same work we find that Father
Le Jeune (1636) offers a suggestion in the following words: “In
time, parks can be made in which to keep Beaver; these would be
treasure-houses, besides furnishing us with meat at all times.”

An
example of a diminishing lake and corresponding increase in the size
of the “beaver meadow.”

A
beaver pond which may eventually become meadow land.

It
is true that to-day the prospect for their welfare is better than it
was some years ago when their extermination seemed to be imminent.
Fourteen years ago I spent weeks travelling by canoe through what was
formerly one of the best beaver countries in Canada, in search of
material for some drawings on beaver and their work, and though I had
with me an experienced Indian, I only found one colony, a small one,
in a pond many miles north-west of Lake Temiscaming. All other ponds
found on this trip were deserted, nothing but the decaying lodges and
dams marked the places where the beavers had been. Trappers had
relentlessly pursued them from pond to pond, and scarcely any
remained, notwithstanding the fact that they were even then supposed
to be protected by law. In a big wild country it is far easier to
make than enforce laws, especially as the law prohibiting the killing
of the beaver was obnoxious to so many whose living depended largely
on the trapping or selling furs, for of all fur-bearers the most
easily obtained are the beaver. The law was in fact almost a dead
letter as very few were interested in its being observed. About that
time in Canada certain men began to realise the value of proper game
reserves, and be it said to their everlasting credit they succeeded
in influencing the Government to carry out their ideas. In the United
States, Colonel Roosevelt was one of those most active in the work of
con­servation and in establishing reservations, and if he had
done nothing else during his strenuous life he would be remembered by
what he did in that direction. In Canada, several great “parks”
or reserves were established, one particularly I know of which was
designed for a “fish and game pre­serve, health resort and
pleasure ground for the benefit, advantage and enjoyment of the
people of Ontario, and for the protection of the fish, birds, game
and fur-bearing animals therein,” etc. Leaving aside all other
animals and birds, we will see how it affected the beaver. The tract
chosen was admirably adapted to their needs, and they soon found
themselves, as they thought, safe from the continual dread of the
steel trap, so that new colonies established themselves and increased
most wonderfully. But the wretched beasts were lulled into a false
security, and what followed for obvious reasons cannot be recounted
here. Sufficient is it to say that great numbers of beavers were
killed by authority, the number caught and killed in a single
year I dare not mention, but under the clause which reads: “Upon
the report of the Minister that any species of fur-bearing or game
animal or bird has increased to such an extent that its numbers may
be lessened without detriment to the Park, or the purposes for which
the Park was established, the Lieutenant-Governor in Council may
authorise the taking or killing of such animals or birds not
exceeding the number specified in Order in Council under the
direction and super­vision of the Superintendent of the Park,”
and further, in speaking of furs, skins, etc., “May be sold by the
Minister and the proceeds of the sales shall be applied toward
defraying the expenses of the Park.” The unfortunate and, I venture
to add, injudicious taking of beaver has continued. The results are
unsatisfactory from two points of view. First, that the beaver has
been captured in the most accessible parts of the park, so
that one of the objects of the reserve is defeated. The under­lying
idea was that in protecting the wild animals, and so bringing them to
a condition of comparative tameness, the people who came to this
“fish and game preserve, health resort and pleasure ground”
should have an opportunity of seeing the wild animals, the most
interesting of all being the beaver, whose works are a positive
education for young and old. But these people, of whom I have met
many, are filled with disappointment and disgust when they are shown
abandoned dams and lodges close to the resorts (within a few hundred
yards of hotels and camps) and are told that the builders themselves
have been trapped and either killed or sent away to zoological
gardens or other parts. Such treat­ment is scarcely fair to the
people and cannot be considered wise. The country is certainly rich
enough to support the parks without the necessity of getting money
from the sale of the animals which the people would far rather see
alive and in their natural conditions than in “returns for sale of
skins.” But the second objection is even more far-reaching though
more subtle, because people do not generally grasp its significance.
The trapper is told that the beaver are absolutely protected by law
and that to kill one involves the offender in serious trouble, such
as imprisonment, fine and confiscation of his traps. In other words,
by strict Government orders beaver may not be killed. These
trappers are usually men of fair-play who understand rude justice
better than obscure reason­ings. They believe that what is food
for the goose is food for the gander, and that if they, who trap only
as a means of livelihood may not kill beaver neither must anyone
else, except possibly as specimens for museums or such special
purpose, but that the Government should indulge in beaver killing for
commercial reasons is past their under­standing. To fully
appreciate what I am speaking of it might be well to explain the
situation a little more clearly. The land which has been set apart as
a game reserve and park was formerly occupied by trappers who made
their living out of the wild lands. According to their unwritten law,
a man on establishing a claim has a right to a certain tract of
country for trapping purposes. These rights are regarded as almost
sacred, and the man who poaches on another’s boundary is held to be
little better than a thief. These rights go from father to son, with
the understanding, I believe, that if the land is not trapped for a
specified number of years, the privilege is forfeited. In order to
get possession of a desirable tract, men will go great distances and
endure untold hard­ships, with the understanding that once they
have succeeded in finding what they want it is to be theirs, unless
sold by the Government. It will be seen by this that the best
trappers who for years had set their line of traps through the land
which is now a park felt their expulsion very severely. To make
amends to them a few were taken on as rangers or wardens. The men,
though feeling themselves in hard luck, realised at heart that it was
after all for a good purpose, for well enough they knew that unless
the beaver was protected it would be but a few years before they
would be a thing of the past, gone to join the dodo and others that
used to be. So they took their medicine like men, but when they saw
that the park was being used for trapping purposes, and that the
skins were being sold by the Government, their spirits rose in
rebellion. More especially when they
themselves as employees of the park had to take part in trapping the
animals. They were for the most part quite willing to forego their
share of beavers’ skins if the beaver was to be really protected,
but they do not see the fairness of the present situation, and the
result is that men who otherwise would have honestly observed laws
which were for the welfare of the greater number are now in many
instances doing their best to get a share of the spoils. They do not
see that it is any longer a question of honour, for if beaver may
be killed, why should not they as well
as anyone else, reap the benefit? Laws relating to wild animals in a
great country which has so small a population and so much wild land
can only be of real value if they are in accordance with popular
opinion, but just as soon as the public considers a law unfair the
difficulties of enforcing that law become practically insurmountable.
What I have written is not a matter of theory, but is the result of
observation and conversation with the men interested in the question.
There is absolutely no desire to tread on anybody’s toes, but
rather to call attention to conditions which might so easily be
remedied, for my interest is simply with the beaver, and with
protection of wild life in general.

A
fresh beaver-cut stump, showing the keen cutting through the
hard birch.

Lodge
built by beaver in the Washington Zoo.

Dam
built by beaver in the Washington Zoo.

I
know it has been asserted that beaver were too abundant in a certain
park, but whether the assertion was justified by facts I have serious
doubts. At any rate, before radical measures were adopted, it would
have been advisable to have had the expert opinion of an entirely
disinterested person, or, better still, of many persons, and if their
findings resulted in a disagreement then the beaver should have had
the benefit of the doubt.

In
Newfoundland the question of beaver protec­tion needs most
serious consideration and a definite policy lined out for future
plans. Eleven years ago I first visited that country, and each
succeeding year until 1912, when I was last there. During that period
of ten years ample opportunities were afforded me of observing the
beaver and the extraordinary results of what protection can do.
During the first four visits to the island I never saw but one
beaver colony, and that a very small one in a remote and
inaccessible part of the country. In 1912 I counted no less than
twenty-seven occupied lodges within a short day of walking and
canoeing. What has happened in that one district is simply an
indication of what might be expected elsewhere, and goes to show how
rapidly the whole country might be re-colonised by the interesting
animals. Their abundance would be a great source of pleasure to all
who visit the delightful island, and would add one more to the list
of attractions which it has to offer. The one condition which has
retarded the increase of the beaver is that the law for their
protection has been so often changed. The harm done is that each time
the close season was drawing to an end, beavers were surreptitiously
killed in anticipation of the time when the skins might legally be
offered for sale. Then almost at the last moment the close season
would be extended for another few years, very much to the disgust of
those who were storing skins at considerable risk, for, justly
enough, their discovery would mean a heavy fine. It can scarcely be
doubted that fair numbers of beaver were killed by those who wanted
to be ahead of their neighbours, for competition must have been keen.

An
animal which is as easily trapped or in other ways killed, as the
beaver, requires the most careful protection, and laws should be
considered with the most thorough understanding of the conditions
governing their life and the trappers’ powers. Had the close season
(in Newfoundland) terminated two years ago, the entire good gained by
the preceding years would have been lost. For the trapper, having
learned by experience that laws can be made and suddenly changed for
the protection of the beaver, would have made the most of the
oppor­tunity and practically every colony would have been sacked
within a very few months, and small indeed would have been the number
of survivors. How to devise a sound scheme which would be fair on
both trapper and beaver is no easy task. But the Govern­ment has
been so careful and far-sighted in its game laws, having set a
standard which might well be considered by other countries, that I
offer these suggestions with due humility in the hope that they may
do some good. To open up a definite tract of country for a certain
period has the disadvantage that it would mean the killing off of
every beaver in that tract, and would entail a great deal of expense
to the Government in the way of patrols in order to prevent poaching
in the closed territory. Probably the soundest scheme would be to
licence every trapper, and furnish him with a limited number of
labels, one to be attached to every beaver skin before allowing it to
be sold. This would serve the double purpose of limiting the number
of beaver killed, and keeping track of the total amount with the
least expense. Of course it would be necessary to make the selling of
any un­labelled skins absolutely illegal, with punishment severe
enough to make it effective. Imprisonment alone could do that, as the
penalty would be most likely to fall on those to whom the very name
of prison is most appalling. The number of labels issued should be
strictly limited with due reference to the number of beaver. No
beaver should be taken until they are thoroughly established and
really abundant, neither should they ever be molested in the reserves
under any conditions, in order that people might have the opportunity
of seeing them living peacefully and without suspicion. For­tunately
they are amenable to protection and they adapt themselves readily to
new conditions. In zoological gardens and private parks they do
re­markably well, even though they can never be said to be show
animals in any sense of the word when in captivity, owing to their
crepuscular and nocturnal habits.

The
following account of an experience I had with beaver in the
Washington Zoological Gardens may be of interest, for even though it
was published elsewhere many years ago it still shows
something of the animal in captivity.1

THE
OUTCAST

A
TRUE STORY OF A CAPTIVE BEAVER

IT
is difficult to imagine a more pathetic sight than that of the poor
old beaver solitary and so entirely alone, within sight of his
comrades yet not among them, unable to join in their games and their
work, living his lonely life like a hermit; within sight of his
fellow men, but separated by a barrier as strange as it was secure.
After I had waited for many hours watching quietly in the small
enclosure above the large beaver pond in the Washington Zoo, there
was a movement in front of the large hollow
opening out on the water, and a head peeped out to see that all was
safe for the owner’s regular evening exercise. The sun had long
since disappeared behind the hill and every­thing had the quiet
hush of evening. The deep roaring of the lions and tigers and the
more distant barking of the seals alone disturbed this silence, when
the beaver, fancying himself alone, plunged noiselessly into the
water, diving beneath the log that lay partly submerged but a few
feet from the narrow entrance and reappeared inthe middle of
the small pond. Almost like a short piece of drift wood he lay with
his tiny dark eyes gazing intently at me where I stood in the shadow
of a small tree. Observing no movement and not being of a suspicious
nature lie soon swam to shore and immediately walked, moving for all
the world like a large smoothly coated Canadian porcupine, straight
to the corner of the fence that divided him from his relatives. Once
there he stood on his hind legs and tail, and with front
feet resting on the horizontal bar, he gazed, with a longing wistful
look shown by his entire attitude, at the lodge in which the other
beavers lived. Never surely was loneliness shown more eloquently than
by this soft furred animal as he stood there, the very picture of
solitude in the midst of so many, as a stranger in a city where the
fences of convention, bars as rigid as those which surrounded this
beaver, keep him from personal intercourse with his fellow men. For
ten minutes he remained thus, motionless except when, as though no
longer able to contain his misery, he would bite the hard, cold bars
of iron, as he had bitten them every evening for three, long, weary
months. Did he imagine that perhaps some day he would find the bars
had softened and would yield to his chisel-edged teeth, teeth that,
were the animal in his native land, would
work their way through anything save the stones or the cruel metal of
the merciless steel traps? These alone would defy them.

The
outcast.

A
rough example of beaver lodge in which very little sod or mud has
asyet been used.

Type
of lodge built on an island.

Wishing
to examine more closely the interesting animal I approached quietly,
hoping not to disturb him, but he felt uncertain of my intentions,
and before I had lessened the distance between us by more than a few
steps, he dropped on all fours, and after regarding me curiously for
a minute or two turned and made for the water. Once there he felt
more secure, for at the slightest sign of danger he would, as he had
done many times in his far-off Canadian wilds, dive in and loudly
slap the water with his tail to warn his friends and then instantly
disappear from view beneath the water and make straight for his
burrow. His curiosity, however, soon got the better of his natural
timidity, and out he came with the usual quiet splash and dive. This
time I stood near his regular landing place, which was as clearly
marked as an otter’s slide, and wondered whether he would venture
near. Slowly he swam towards me, stopping repeatedly to investigate.
What it was that gave him confidence I could not tell, but suddenly
he apparently made up his mind that there was no occasion for fear
and he moved quickly, landing within three feet of where I stood.
Once on shore he again doubted the wisdom of his course and
hesitated, not quite liking to pass so near a human being; sitting
half way up on his hind legs and tail with his small fore paws held
close beneath his chin he carefully watched me, his nose moving
slowly as though trying to scent an enemy. A few minutes sufficed for
this, and then we had established a degree of mutual confidence at
once satisfactory and useful, for I hoped on the following day to
take a few photos of my new friend, and it is highly desirable that
we should be on a footing of trust with our
model. It was rapidly becoming dark, too dark, indeed, for me to
distinguish much more than the general form of the beaver. So I left
him to his thoughts, intending to visit him again the following
afternoon.

That
the reader may understand something of the position of this poor old
hermit a few words of explanation are needed. When the beavers were
first brought to the Zoo they were given for their new home a small
enclosure of perhaps two acres. Through this ran a very small stream,
the banks of which were fairly well wooded. It was but a short time
before the industrious animals commenced work; the stream was so
small that they were unable even to swim in it, so a dam was planned
and rapidly constructed. Trees were felled, some of which were nearly
eighteen inches in diameter; from these the branches were cut, then
divided into convenient lengths and used in the dam building; the
bottom of the stream was dredged and the mud and roots used to finish
off the structure and make it watertight. The number of trees
decreased so rapidly through the industry of those four-footed
engineers that it became necessary to protect those that still
remained unharmed with heavy wire netting. This at first was fastened
to the tree in direct contact, but it was soon discovered that the
beavers could cut the tree between the meshes. To prevent this an
iron rail, to which the wire was attached, was placed at a little
distance from the tree. The dam was by this time fairly large, but
not as large as was needed. More material was needed, so a great
quantity of cut wood was thrown into the enclosure and was
immediately utilised by the beavers; in a short time the level of the
water was raised many feet with the result that a pond of
considerable dimensions was formed. Three other dams were also built
down stream from the main structure, about fifty feet apart. It was
late summer by the time this work was accomplished, and a house had
to be built with as little delay as possible, for with the arrival of
cold weather all building operation must cease as the mud freezes and
of course becomes too hard to work. The house or lodge, as it is more
properly named, is outwardly a great mass of loose sticks, some of
which might from their size be called logs, filled in with earth and
roots and covered over with mud. In the centre very little mud is
used, for there is a sort of irregular chimney, which serves as a
ventilator. Inside the house all is darkness or very nearly so. The
walls are rough, but the floor, which is raised a few inches above
the water, is firm and smooth, made of fine twigs beaten into the
earth. The entrances, for there are usually two or more, are several
feet beneath the water. What impressed me on seeing the lodge and
dams built by the beavers in the Washington Zoo was the fact that in
no way did they differ from those in the most remote part of Canada.

When
spring came it was found that the beavers had increased in numbers,
very much to the delight of all concerned, but the following year,
when they were all full grown, the rules and regulations of beaverdom
were put in force. They decided that there was one too many, and
according to their laws he must either betake himself to some other
locality or submit to an untimely death. Now, the victim chosen —
whether by ballot or by what­ever means who can say? — was our
old friend, and as it was impossible for him to leave the colony of
his own accord, death would have been his lot had not the keeper come
to the rescue and given him a cage where he might live until a better
place could be provided. It was two or three months before he was
turned into the enclosure in which I found him. This bordered on his
old home and was separated only by an iron fence. Being a solitary
bachelor he has not as yet set up housekeeping; perhaps he thinks it
scarcely worth while building a house until he has a mate. As it is
he has made a burrow in the bank with the entrance at the level of
the water. In this he spends his days, seldom coming out at all
before sunset, frequently much later. When out he spends much of his
time watching his old companions, while they in turn seem to take but
little notice of him. So much for the reason of his being alone.

On
the occasion of my second visit to this soli­tary beaver I
brought my camera, with the fond hope of being able to secure a few
photographs, even though the light might not be suitable for such
work. It was nearly five o’clock before he made his appearance, and
then, as on the day pre­vious, after emerging from his burrow, he
lay quietly on the water taking in the situation before daring to
come ashore. I had placed the camera so that if he went to his usual
corner it would not be necessary to move it. After satisfying himself
that all was well he landed and walking past the camera took up his
position at the fence corner.

Repairing a broken dam. The beaver is
forcing a heavy piece of water-soaked wood into the breach; in so doing
he touched the thread which was connected with the electric trigger of
the flashlight.

A subsidiary or secondary dam built
to support the main structure, which may be seen on the middle and
right side of the upper part of the picture.

Standing
erect as on the previous day he gazed intently at the home of his old
friends. They had not yet made their appearance, but from their lodge
came the sound of muffled voices, for they were holding an animated
conversation in beaver lan­guage, which sounds like a strange
subdued mixture of children’s voices and very young pigs squealing,
varied now and then by a puppy’s cry. Whether or not our beaver
understood the drift of their dis­cussion would be difficult to
say, but certain it is that he seemed to be very much interested by
it all.While he
stood there almost as motionless as a statue, I made several
exposures, bringing the camera nearer and nearer each time; when
within almost five feet he turned round to examine the strange
one-eyed monster that was approaching so quietly. It evidently
puzzled him without frightening him. After a few moments his
curiosity got the upper hand and he came straight for it, slowly of
course, and hesitating slightly at each step. As he came nearer I
retreated that I might the better see what he would do. To begin with
each leg of the tripod was scrutinised most carefully; these he
evidently concluded were harmless, so resting his hands on one of the
legs he reached up and took a good look at the camera itself. His
nose must have discovered some new odour, for he sniffed first on one
side then on the other for many minutes; suddenly his attention was
attracted by the rubber ball belong­ing to the shutter. This was
moving at the end of the tube, and he thought that perhaps it was
something new in the way of food. In another moment the bulb would
have been rendered useless, for his sharp teeth would have instantly
punctured it. At this critical moment I had to interfere, very much
to his disgust, as the poor old chap evidently thought he had been
robbed of a delicious morsel, and I regretted not having brought a
carrot or sweet potato for him. Wishing to make friends with this
strange animal, I sat down near the camera. Immediately he came near,
so near that I could put my hand on his soft, furry back, wondering
at the time what would happen if he should take it into his head to
use his teeth. For with their extraordinary strength and sharpness
the amputation of a finger or two would have been the work of an
instant; however, he was a very well meaning old fellow and contented
himself with walking slowly round me, stopping occasionally to sit on
his hind legs and take a general survey of the curious being who went
about with the three-legged thing — the camera. Satisfied that he
might safely leave me for a short while he went to his corner, and
after looking for a few minutes at his neighbours who were swimming
about in their pond he went down his path to the water’s edge, and
in his own peculiar, noiseless way, plunged in for a swim. He soon
discovered a stick upon which some bark still remained. This he
brought ashore and holding it with his front paws, or hands as they
might well be called, proceeded to make a meal therefrom. It required
but a few minutes to strip the stick of its bark, after which it
served no further use and was left in the water while the animal swam
around making a tour of investiga­tion, which resulted in his not
finding anything more suited to his taste. So coming ashore near
where I stood, he commenced his evening toilet, which was interesting
to watch. To begin with, instead of sitting with his large
flat-ribbed tail protruding behind him he tucked it forward between
his hind legs and sat upon it. Then with his hands he carefully
combed his long fur, using both hands at the same time. There were,
however, many places that he could not reach in this way, for his
arms are very short. So with one hind foot at a time he combed these
otherwise inaccessible parts; the entire operation was performed with
the utmost deliberation and care, and occupied nearly twenty minutes,
so that by the time it was completed the daylight had almost
vanished. My presence did not appear to disturb him in the very
least, though I sat quite close that I might the better note his
various attitudes, for it is not often one has an opportunity of
watching a beaver at such close range. Suddenly the night watchman,
whose duty it is to feed the nocturnal animals, arrived with a basket
of stale bread and vegetables. These he threw into the enclosure, the
vegetables on the bank and the bread into the pond. Mr. Beaver well
understood the meaning of those splashes, for he instantly made for
the water, utterly regardless of his newly dried jacket about which
he had taken so much trouble, and seizing one of the loaves of bread
in his hands swam to a shallow part of the pond to eat it. He held
the bread in his hands, much after the manner in which a squirrel
holds a nut, but the bread being wet began to fall apart so he made a
bowl of his hands and lapped the soft bread out of it; in this way
not a particle was lost. Piece after piece of bread was eaten, after
which he came ashore and made short work of the carrots and potatoes.
It was quite dark by this time, and as it was impossible to see
anything more I was forced to leave him, with the hope that in the
near future I might continue the acquaintance so plea­santly
begun. When that day comes let us hope he will no longer be solitary
but will have taken to himself a mate whose disposition will be as
good as his own.

From
what has been said in the preceding pages, it will be seen that the
beaver is a gentle creature, free from
desire to harm anybody. As pets they become extremely affectionate
and dependent on their masters. Mills2 describes an
interesting experience with a pet beaver to which he became deeply
attached. “Atop the pack on the horse’s back he travelled,---a
ride which he evidently enjoyed. He was never in a hurry to be taken
off, and at moving time he was always waiting eagerly to be lifted
on. As soon as he noticed me arrang­ing the pack, he came close,
and before I was quite ready for him he rose up, extending his hands
in rapid succession beggingly, and with a whining sort of muttering
pleaded to be lifted at once to his seat on the pack.” There are
many instances of Indians having tame beavers, some of which grew up
in the family having been taken as kittens and nursed by the squaws.
From this and all other accounts the beaver is shown to be a
delight­ful pet, cleanly in habit, good-tempered, quiet and
gentle. The only objection to them is their predilection for
mistaking chair and table legs for growing trees and cutting them
down. The fact that they cut down trees is rather a serious argument
against having them at large in private parks. The only way to keep
them and not suffer from their peculiar habits is to set aside a
portion of a stream for their use, and have a vigorous growth of
aspens or some equally quick-growing tree partitioned off into small
lots. A low iron fence is sufficient to keep the beaver out and they
could be allowed access to one part until they had fairly well
cleared it of timber. A certain number of trees could always be
safeguarded by means of wire netting. The animals, having to do the
work of cutting, would keep in good condition, far healthier and more
vigorous than if fed with cut up food. In order that the supply of
growing trees be not too rapidly depleted, some scraps of brush or
poles could be given occasionally. Sir Edmund Loder has a very
ingenious scheme for feeding the small colony of beaver that he keeps
in his fascinating place in Sussex. A small hole filled with several
large stones serves as a holder for trees or poles or even stout
branches, so that the beaver, in order to obtain the bark, must cut
it down just as they would if it were a growing tree. Unfortunately
most of this colony was carried away by a great flood, the animals
being eventually killed in the sea by fishermen who were much puzzled
by seeing such unusual creatures swimming about in the harbour. All
large trees in a beaver enclosure must be very carefully protected,
for no matter how large they may be, the beaver will girdle them and
eat the bark. Most of the work done by the animals in their wild
state will be almost equally well done in captivity, so that a small
beaver colony is always an object of intense interest and may be
maintained at comparatively small cost in money and labour.

It
is to be hoped that as people realise more fully the interest and
value of these animals they will take steps for their protection in
all countries suited to their needs. It would indeed be a shame to
see such creatures exterminated. There would be nothing to take their
place, and I find wherever I go, and whatever class and age of people
I am with the subject of beaver and their work is always of interest,
far more so than any other animal. For whether a person knows
anything of animals or not, the extraordinary engineering feats of
the beaver, their home life and habits, compel atten­tion. It is
a pity that there is not a broader knowledge on the subject, so that
those who are in a way making their living from the results of the
little animals’ work should realise to whom they owe the debt.

A
fine example of a woodland dam, 365 feet in length, of which about 70
feet was over 7 feet high.

In
spite of the timidity of beaver they sometimes select curiously
public places for their scene of operations. The dam shown in this
picture is alongside a railroad embankment over which trains passed
at frequent intervals.

Beavers’
attempt to improve on man’s work. The log dam was built by lumber
men--the beaver did not approve, so they
placed a small dam (shown near the rocks to the right of the centre),
which held back the water to their complete satisfaction.

When
the first settlers came over to North America, they found a
wilderness where they wanted to start their new homes. They most
often selected what they considered the natural meadows for their
homesteads. These broad valleys in which they found rich luxuriant
grasses waving in the summer breezes appealed to them. In such places
their cattle would feed in comfort and abundance. Hay too could be
gathered to fill their rude barns, that their stock might be well fed
during the long hitter winters. The meadows always contained a stream
where the animals could be watered without trouble. In fact the
pioneers found farms almost ready made, awaiting only the plough to
turn the rich soil into the finest crop-producing land. And all
without the tedious labour of clearing, and only those who have
attempted such work can realise the amount of labour involved in
clearing thickly timbered land. But a small part of the work can be
done during the slack winter season, during which time trees are cut,
but the hard stumps are frozen into the ground, and not until the
soft rains have thawed the earth can they be removed. Rotting them
out is a slow process involving many years during which cultivation
of the stump-strewn land is difficult and unsatisfactory. Blasting
them out is far too expensive for the poor settler, so that every
acre of ready cleared land means a tremendous saving of labour; and
what is even more important, the forest land, though it may be fairly
rich, does not compare in fertility with that of the meadows, and is
of course usually so rough that cultivating is far more
difficult. But the farmer who thus reaped the benefit of countless
ages of beavers’ work had no thought for the little fellows. On
every possible occasion he trapped them, though perhaps the very ones
he killed were the direct descendants of those that had originally
built the dams which had made the meadows for him and his family. His
house might even be built on the site of the original lodges, and
years later a village or a town be built around the same place.
Factory whistles might scream to thousands of busy men and women,
calling them to begin or finish their day’s labour where formerly
the evening call of the owl had summoned forth the beaver to their
night’s work. The saw mill on the old beaver pond might screech as
its many-toothed, buzzing saws tear through the heart of the stoutest
trees, in the very place where years ago the trees had been cut by
the keen-edged teeth of the beaver. Ship canals might be built where
the furry little engineers had built their canals. Great stone dams
form reser­voirs where the primitive earth and log dams had once
held water for the beaver. We are a busy people and we can give but
little heed to sentiment, but surely there is time in our lives to
think of preserving and protecting the beaver. Let us hope that the
generations who follow us will be able to thank us, their
forefathers, for having defended the beaver when they look on these
small creatures continuing the work their Creator intended they
should do. We owe that much to our descendants, and we owe still more
to the beaver.

1
First published in Everybody’s Magazine.

2
“In Beaver World.”

Working
on the lodge and carrying branches to the winter store, which
isplaced in the water and quite near the house. (Painting.)

The
winter life of the beaver. As the pond and house are frozen and
covered with snow, the animals obtain their food from the store which
they collected and placed under water before the beginning of winter.
(Painting.)